Black, Pink And All They Sacrifice
by Tinybookworm
Summary: One-shot collection containing stories about Seneca Crane and Effie Trinket:) Tiny-bookworm on tumblr; take a look;) Prompts & reviews are kindly welcomed:)


**A/N: so... Yeah I ship Senffie:) I've never read any fanfiction or anything on these two so look at me, being kind-of original:D I hope you enjoy:)**

**p.s I will still write Hayffie and of innocence and games (+ hopefully get round to its much less picturesque too!) so please don't rush me or criticise my stories too harshly. They take time- especially with my homework for exams!:) **

**Isn't there anybody who can watch over you?**

The game's room was hectic, flurrying with ideas and scenarios for this year's tributes to face. Game-makers sat all around in the circular room, discussing ideas; some much more gruesome than others.

Seneca Crane stood on the higher balcony; staring down at everyone below him. He should be in charge of these gory-seekers, instead he felt his ego and enthusiasm was the smallest in the room. Carrying on as if nothing was affecting him, Seneca barked orders from above, thrill coursing through his veins as the 71st games were starting to begin.

"Are we all set?" He asked.

"Yes sir," a harmonious reply came straight back to him.

"Good," he smirked. "Then let the games begin,"

As the countdown was placed on the screen; Seneca couldn't even fathom the thought of being a tribute. To place hisself in their shoes was surely a death sentence, the majority of the game-makers knew it. No matter how big they make there selfs out to be in front of Caesar, or how strong and steady some of their faces looked, when their names were drawn from slips of thousands- they were just children. Deep inside him, Seneca felt a tension of uncertainty upon witnessing their scared faces line up the podiums. Ignoring it, he waited for the countdown to finish as the room went into eerie silence.

"3...2...1.." The sound of the first cannon alerted him from his daze. The death belonged to a district 8 boy, killed at the cornucopia by a career. Seneca couldn't help but feel sorry for him, he had a long life waiting for him, only for it to be taken away by a child he had not harmed. Snapping out of it once more, he concentrated on counting how many deaths there had been, the games were required to go on for at least 5 days. If they were more, it didn't matter however less didn't bode well with the president.

Boom. Another cannon in the midst of others. District 12 this time, no surprise there really. However that was the district he felt most sorry for, they never won. Although he could try and help them, it could be seen as favouritism; yet another thing which was forbidden.

Sighing silently, Seneca carried on watching the screen as more children were killed to feed to capitols blood-thirst.

The fight at the cornucopia was still raging on, whilst the tributes which had gotten away were searching, most likely for water.

He felt the presence of someone behind him- turning around, an avox stood- head bowed in a silent, forced respect. Quickly, Seneca nodded and took the slip of paper laid out in her hands. He smiled at her and then dismissed her. Opening up the note, it read:

"Effie Trinket is waiting for you in the head game-makers room, sir. If you would be so kind to speak to her."

Effie Trinket? Why was she here? Both her tributes had unfortunately died, so she had no reason to ask for a sponsor's list or as such. Furrowing his eye brows, Seneca made his way to what was essentially his office. Opening the door, he saw Effie sit on a plush chair; looking around, most likely amazed by the technology in his room. He certainly was. Coughing slightly to aware her of his presence, she jumped a little bit before placing her hand on her chest and smiling at him.

"Goodness you startled me. Hello, I hope you don't mind me dropping by..." She started.

"No, not at all! Would you like a drink?" He asked, sitting down next to her.

"I'm fine, thank-you." She smiled again. Seneca couldn't help but notice how pretty her smile was, how she showed her perfectly pearly teeth and her eyes showed crow's feet. He was unable to stop himself smiling back, feeling unusually comfortable around her.

"Is there a reason you're here? Or did you just stop by to say hello?" He asked, humoured, hoping it hasn't come across as rude.

Fortunately for him, she laughed a little. "I came to talk to you about... Well, my tributes," Seneca could've sworn he saw her eyes shine with tears but he blamed it on the lighting. "Every year, they just... Go. It's really not fair! My gir- the girl tribute. She was so lovely and gorgeous; only 13 years old- 13! if anyone deserved to live it was her!" Maybe he wasn't mistaken before, as the tears started to form and fall from her made up eyes and roll down her porcelain cheeks.

Before he could stop himself, Seneca shot out his hand and caught her tear. Careful not to smudge her make-up, he stroked her cheek in a comforting manner, whilst she stopped crying; her blue eyes meeting his piercing copies.

"Hey, it's okay. Don't cry, please," Seneca noticed how his tone was begging. He then realised it was because it hurt him to see her cry. On the tv she was always bubbly and happy, the perfect escort. To see her in such a sad way was awful to him and he suddenly hated felt a hatred towards himself. Although he knew he could've done nothing to save her tributes- he was the one who had designed the arena and everything in it. He was the one who had given her a grave.

"I'm sorry, it's just..." Her eyes welled up again and Seneca shifted closer towards her, putting an arm around her waist. A bit forward, he knew, but right now all Effie needed was some comfort.

"It's alright." He had no other words. What do you say to a crying woman?

All too quickly she attached herself to his shirt and gripped it harshly, as if desperate for something to hold onto. Effie then threw her legs over his thighs, essentially sitting on his lap. Seneca was drawn to the smooth skin of her thigh where her dress had ridden up tremendously. He gulped; if there was anytime not to be aroused- it was now. Especially when said girl he was getting turned on by was currently sitting on his lap, crying into his shirt.

"I'm sorry," she said between sobs.

"It's okay Effie," he said again. He felt as though he could do nothing but hold her whilst she cried, hugging her slightly.

After a while she stopped crying altogether. Looking up at him, Effie smiled slightly, however not showing her teeth this time. Seneca though she looked more cute than hot, which was good. He couldn't find her anymore attractive than he already did with out showing it.

"Thank-you," she whispered.

"Don't mention it," he whispered back. If anyone noticed them now, they would blab and Caesar would be on him like a rash. However, currently he couldn't bring himself to truly care. Looking back at her, he noticed how deep her eyes were and how her lilac wig suited her perfectly. Quickly looking down at her body, which was sprawled across him, he noticed how her tight fitted dress clung to her curves and showed of her assets. Effie was gorgeous and there was no denying it. Of course, he had noticed it before, his eyes immediately drawing to the screen when he saw a flash of couture or heard her accent coated voice but he never thought he would act on it- yet here he was.

"I'm sorry for ruining your shirt," she gestured to the make-up stains running down white material. It looked almost artistic. "I'll buy you a new one,"

"You don't have to do that, I've got plenty more," he replied. Not once did their eyes leave each other's. Both of them were waiting.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm certain,"

"Okay,"

And then they collapsed into each other. Him bending down to kiss her and her reaching upwards. Their lips met in a kiss full of emotions; lust, passion, sorrow. Their mouths said a thousand words without uttering a single sentence. Although it wasn't fast and sloppy- rather slow and steady- it still felt as though it ended too soon for Seneca's liking. Slightly out of breath he opened his eyes quickly to look her: eyes closed, lips slightly parted and breathing panted. Her eyes flew open and she smiled at him, snuggling into his body slightly- still sat upon him.

"Shouldn't you be getting back?" She asked quietly.

"Probably. Although a few more minutes shouldn't hurt. They aren't robots, I'm sure they'll function without me," he said.

"That's a funny sentence," she said, smiling to herself.

"How come?" He asked, grinning.

"Well, you used objectification to describe a human. Surely the word 'function' suggests they are robots?" She said slyly.

He laughed. "Perhaps. Since when were you so insightful?" Honestly, he hadn't thought she was all that clever. She was proving him to be very wrong.

She hit him jokingly. "Since always." She looked at the clock on the wall. "I should probably go now. Thank-you again, Seneca." She kissed him on the cheek. "For comforting me,"

"My pleasure," he said to her. Effie looked at him, confused. "I mean, not that I get pleasure out of you being sad! More, I'm always here if you need me,"

She smiled. "Good luck ordering the robots around,"

"Thanks, I'll need it," he said, smiling back. As she turned around and walked out the room Seneca watched her as she left, hypnotised.

Before leaving his room, he buttoned up his blazer. Make-up stains wouldn't go down well with machinery.


End file.
